


Threads in Time and Reminiscence

by Darkflames_Pyre



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Bound Universe, Fluff, Gen, Introspection, Multi-Shot, references to illness and injury, the bound universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-23 18:47:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18155675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkflames_Pyre/pseuds/Darkflames_Pyre
Summary: Remembering times most cherished. A collection of ficlets, one for each of our Tracy boys. *This is a collaboration and half the profits go to Teobi for such a brilliant challenge and for 'atmospheric advice'. Boundverse. Pre and Post-'04 Film/TAG-compliant. An old fic, originally posted on fanfiction.net. Cross-posted here for continuity.





	1. Scott

_**Fall** _

He leans on the post at the bottom of the steps and smirks as Virgil's restored mustang pulls up the drive, sending multi-coloured leaves flying in a whoosh of air and exhaust smoke. It turns in a wide half circle, and then backs bumpily onto the lawn beneath the moulting sycamore, narrowly missing the old swing that dangles from the lowest-hanging branch.

Next to him, perched on the veranda's edge, John looks at the shockingly vivid paintjob and shakes his head. "It had to be green, didn't it?"

Scott nods, as jubilant cheers are heard from within the car interior. He peers at the windscreen and assumes that Alan has the shotgun seat. With Virgil's driving, it makes sense.

Twin blurs suddenly shoot across the grass, the slamming of the doors like gunshots in the still air. Thirteen-year-old Gordon has grown since Christmas, and his curls are in need of a cut. Nine-year-old Alan is the same, but he's as skinny and short as ever.

Virgil —sixteen just last month— ambles up as they throw themselves at John. Scott sticks his hand out to his younger brother.

"Virgil."

"Scott."

Scott smiles and pulls him into a tight embrace.

Stepping back as he turns, Scott ruffles Alan's hair and slings an arm across Gordon's broadening shoulders. He grins and claps John on the back, and together, the five of them walk across the front porch.

Scott nods to himself; the warmth spreading within his chest, as John picks up their discarded bags from the floorboards.

This is why he loves fall.


	2. John

_**Summer** _

Barefoot, John sidesteps the mess on his bedroom floor, careful not to trip and make any noise. It is close to midnight, and he can't help but give a shiver at the thrill of what he is about to experience.

He tries not to wake his father or any of his brothers. The fifteen-year-old is determined to be out there for the storm that's been brewing since he went to bed, and he won't let anything stop him. Not even the summer cold he got off his brother the other day.

He knows it's foolish; climbing up the rickety trellis on the wall near his room. It will already be slick with water from the rain that has already fallen; but John doesn't care. He doesn't even care that his nose is running enough to rival the leaky tap in the first floor bathroom either, or that he will be sticky and damp when he comes down again. He shrugs into the thin coat, and slides his feet into the waterproof boots, knowing that he probably looks weird with his pyjama shorts and sleep shirt beneath, but he doesn't otherwise pay any notice.

His only objective is to get up on that roof.

The wood creaks ominously as he climbs up onto the windowsill, and he stills, holding his breath, listening to the rain and the wind as they wash cool against him in the hot July night, but all is silent from within the house.

His breathing is loud in his ears, adding to the sound of the wild weather. John grasps the wooden slats with experienced hands; hauling himself onto the trellis and shimmying quickly up towards the eaves of the farmhouse roof. Taking a deep breath, he hikes his lanky five-foot-nine frame over the edge, using his feet for leverage and flops onto the wet tiles with a satisfying smack from the plastic of his fastened coat.

John lays there on the roof, the rain falling gently onto his face as he gazes at the lightning flashing across the dark sky, like the tails of a comet. It is one of those nights that are still bright enough to see by, even though the moon is hidden behind thunderclouds. The smell of ozone permeates the air, and for once, John doesn't mind that he can't see the stars.

To John, his father represents the sky and the infinite reaches of space, but storms were the special times that John alone had with his mother. He is able to see the stars almost anytime he wants, but there are only limited times in a year when he gets to experience a summer storm.

John will take any chance he can; angry fathers, slippery trellises and summer colds galore, if only to imagine that his mother is near during the times he is most lonely.


	3. Virgil

_**Dawn** _

The pencil rasps across the page in sure, quick strokes, and he narrows his eyes thoughtfully as the beginnings of a rough sketch of the landscape beyond the window blooms across the page.

The pre-dawn light streams through the glass onto the attic landing; enough to see by, but not so much as to sacrifice the scene emerging from beneath the rising sun. It paints pale hands and the white sheet of the sketch pad in multitudes of orange and grey, and he tips it slightly in an effort to not get an eyeful of glare and slip in the deft movements; ease gained from long practice.

Virgil mutters to himself as he shades lightly around the outline of the puddle that is mirrored in the farmhouse yard below, sticking his tongue out in concentration as he smudges the curve with the edge of his little finger. The mud from last night's downpour hasn't quite hardened yet, and he is finding it difficult not to snap the lead tip as he guides the pencil carefully around his initial indentations.

John is the only ambidextrous one in their family, but as much as Virgil curses it, he also loves the fact he is the only one of his brothers who didn't inherit their father's right-handedness.

He knows his immediate older brother was on the roof again last night: He'd be worried if he hadn't been; not with how ferocious the rain was. The thirteen-year-old knows full well how much the storms mean to John, but he finds his mother's presence in other things. Drier things. He personally despises the idea of getting dirt and damp on the clothes he has to sleep in.

He half-hears the creak of old hinges behind him and the rustle of fabric, but Virgil keeps his gaze on the thick, short waves of grass growing in the wild stretch down the sides of the gravel drive, as he lightly sketches in the tiny purple flowers that his grandmother planted back in the spring.

The door of the attic hallway closes and then there are soft footsteps. The floorboards groan with the pressure of bare feet coming to a standstill and the new arrival settles themselves down; somewhere behind Virgil on his left-hand side.

It can only be Scott. He's the only one besides their father who ever gets up this early. Virgil is only awake because of the remnants of the storm pattering on the roof, and the plunk, plunk, plunk of the rain in the drainpipe near his window. He needed to awaken. He has a sort of sense about these things that he can never properly explain.

His brother sits in silence as he finishes off the clouds that hang forever above the sunrise; faded grey against the lightening sky, and Virgil doesn't mind that Scott is sharing this time with him. Not invading; but becoming a part of it in the most fundamental way. He finds it soothing, safe; having his oldest sibling here at the time of the morning that Virgil loves best.

His brothers are after all, an integral part of a new day.


	4. Gordon

_**Spring** _

Gordon sits uncomfortably at the water's edge, the hated crutches flung behind him in a fit of pique. The sand spills outward from the pocks his hands created when his weakened legs collapsed beneath him.

The pain is there, although hidden; ghosts that haunt him every day, emotional, mental and physical. It's why he's nowhere close to putting his feet in the water. It is a cry echoed by the gulls wheeling above his head and the crash of the waves on the shore beneath the clouded sky. The sea can be dangerous.

He knows it is a blessing that he is even alive to be able to feel the fine granules beneath his palms, smell the salt and brine as the wind whips it towards his face. His skin is burning beneath the glare of the late spring sun, but right now, despite the reassurance it brings of his continued existence, he can't help but resent his current situation.

He's stuck here on the sand until his father or one of his brothers come searching for him. He wouldn't have ventured this far on his own, but he just needed to be alone. Just once. The remainders of an almost shattered spine and the damaged nerves in his lower torso and legs leave marks that are both visible and invisible to the eye, but he can't escape from them for more than two minutes.

He isn't as artistic as Virgil, but as he feels the breeze on his face, Gordon can clearly recall the purple flowers that were planted six years ago on their farm; the colours vivid and bright against the faded yellow of the front lawn. They had struggled to take root at first, to adapt to a more arid region than they had originated from, but Grandma had stayed at it, carefully looking after them until they were strong enough to hold to the yearly cycle of receding and sprouting with the changing weather.

This island doesn't give them proper seasons, not the way their hometown of Lawrence did at any rate. During the winter, the nights get colder and during summer they become more humid, giving damper weather than the rest of the year 'round, but Gordon misses seeing the plants in his grandmother's garden grow in tiny increments every day, getting both stronger and more resilient as the time passes. The island has only one colour for the entire year; a muted, wet green.

It's too uniform; Gordon likes chaos and the clash of different colours and scents. Here he can only smell brine and the cloying scent of decaying earth.

Gordon can't help but see similarities between himself and those flowers sometimes, especially when he's so low he can't see the light on the other side of the tunnel.

He's not only out of his depth with his feelings, but he's stuck between the shores of the island for the foreseeable future. He can move about to some extent, but he's limited to the boundaries of his own body; exhaustion and pain are his constant companions, even four months following his accident. Gordon can't even swim in the pool because his limbs are far from strong enough to propel him to the speed he is used to, not to mention the just-resolved memories of the impact are still lingering. It's depressing to have that reminder, so he avoids the water other than the periods in which he has to endure his physical therapy.

But he ignores those feelings; his thoughts have moved back to the flowers. He's weak and tired and ill at the moment; braces confining both of his legs for support of the unstable joints. He likens them to the plants being held hostage by the soil and the wind as they battle their way upwards towards the sky. But he is getting stronger, just like the tiny buds would be; gradually overcoming the limitations and obstacles set in their way.

He'll be as stubborn as the wild tendrils of weed that snarled their way within the engine of Virgil's mustang. The seeds were borne on the wind from one of the fields, rendering the car useless as they grew unnoticed for weeks while his brother was away at Denver.

Gordon knows that he will soon be able to explode in a nimbus of colour and vibrancy; into what he used to and is supposed to be. He will be completely healed and revitalised like the hibernating animals that he used to watch emerge from their burrows at the end of winter. His period of convalescence will be over, and he'll be like the trees; strong, sure and full as they regain their leaves.

But unlike the flowers and trees both —though every year they are renewed with the seasons— Gordon knows that he will never again fade.


	5. Alan

_**Winter** _

Alan is confused about winter.

Grandma bakes cookies in winter; special gingerbread ones with the buttons for Christmas. They always start decorating the house in November, just after Thanksgiving, not like Tommy, because his big sister's birthday is on December 3rd, and he has to wait. Alan and his brothers get marshmallows with hot cocoa to go with them; pink-cheeked and warm in the heat of the house after playing in the snow. Even Scott does it, even when he usually says that he's too old to play games anymore.

Alan's daddy brings out the big box of decorations, including the shiny gold star for the top, even though John always says that it's not a proper star because _stars don't have a shape_ , and then they get to go tree-hunting at the farm on Wilson's Row for the 'perfect Christmas tree'.

But Alan wonders if he truly likes winter, because this year is really different.

He's scared, because it's winter, and this year Mommy isn't here.

It's not winter without Mommy's carols around the piano with Virgil and Johnny singing with her, or Mommy letting him and Gordy go with her and Grandpa to the mall to pick up all the ingredients so Grandma can make the pudding and all the mince pies. It's not winter or Christmas if Mommy isn't here to help him make the paper snowflakes to string around the living room, or to make their own peg reindeer to hang on the tree. Alan knows that winter is here, and he knows it's not right this year because Mommy isn't.

Everyone is sad, and upset. Both Scotty and Johnny have been sick, and it's not been a normal year. Everyone misses Mommy, and it was hard because Daddy was gone for a little while too. Daddy is back now; Alan hears Scotty and Johnny talking, but Alan doesn't really remember Daddy being gone anymore, which he thinks is good, but everything is colder. He misses Mommy.

Alan doesn't like the cold. He used to. He used to love making the huge snowman with Mommy and his brothers in the front yard beneath the tree when the snow was thick at the end of November, and how she always gave him her hat and scarf, lifting him up so Alan could dress it. He knows that Mommy is gone. He remembers it. Winter took Mommy away, and now for that, Alan doesn't like it.

He remembers cold ice and snow pressing in on him, and Mommy telling Scotty to hold him tight. He remembers being pulled against his older brother's chest, away from Mommy, but wanting to hold onto her instead. He knew that if he let go of Mommy he wouldn't see her again. There was white snow, and it was so cold in the cabin, where before it had been so warm with Scott and Mommy and him drinking hot chocolate by the fire. He remembers the shivers that ran through him, how he hurt all over, and the red blood that spilled white against the snow from behind and in front of him. He heard Mommy crying, and Scotty was sobbing too. He didn't like it. The snow took his Mommy away, and it made his brother cry. Scotty had never cried before Mommy was gone.

Alan used to love snow, and the red lipstick Mommy used to wear when she dressed up to go out with Daddy, in her big fluffy coat for Daddy's work Christmas party, but now he knows that red means blood, and white means death. Mommy looked so pretty in her white dress, but it was the dress she was wearing when they said goodbye to her last Christmas.

Doesn't 'goodbye' mean that you're going to see someone again? Alan knows that Daddy says goodbye to him and his brothers when he leaves to go to work all the time, but Daddy always comes home. Mommy didn't.

Alan loves winter because it means it's time to have fun with his brothers and Daddy, but it's not half as much fun when he misses Mommy so bad. His daddy and his brothers and Grandma and Grandpa are trying, for him and Gordy if no one else, but he knows that there's something else not right. He heard them. They feel like they're pretending. And Alan doesn't like that.

Grandma and Daddy have a row over it, when Scott and John and Grandpa are in Topeka, and Virgil is at his music lesson. Alan hears them. He and Gordy creep downstairs and listen as Grandma cries and Daddy yells. Daddy misses Mommy as much as they do.

Alan knows that Daddy asked Mommy to 'marrey' him on the 24th of December, and they got 'marreyd' on Christmas Eve the year before Scotty was born. Alan finds it funny that Scotty was once smaller than him, because he's so tall, but Daddy told him that, and what Daddy tells him is the truth. He promised him he'll always tell the truth. Alan knows that Daddy hates winter as much as he does. He tells him without saying it. Alan knows.

Daddy sees Alan because Gordy slips on the stairs and cries out. When he and Grandma run around the corner, Alan can't help but cry and ask why Daddy doesn't like winter. Is it because Alan loves Christmas and they have to pretend for him because everyone is sad and they want him to be happy?

As Grandma hugs Gordy and fixes his boo-boo, Daddy swallows and kneels down in front of Alan. Daddy tells Alan that he doesn't like winter because it took Mommy away. As his daddy pulls him into his arms and picks him up, Alan hides his face in Daddy's shoulder and tries not to cry as Daddy says he's doing it because Mommy loved Christmas, and it would make her sad if they stopped it. Alan knows Daddy is telling the truth.

Alan isn't confused anymore. He still likes Christmas, because they played the recording of her and Johnny and Virgil from the last year they were at home; after dinner when they were decorating the big tree. Grandpa took them on his own to the mall after lunch; in the rusty orange pick-up that he's giving to Scotty for Christmas.

They're still going to help Grandma with the pudding and the mince pies tomorrow, and they're still going to lay one of the pastries aside for Mommy for when they have their afternoon snack, because Grandma said that just because Alan can't hear or see her doesn't mean that Mommy isn't around. Mommy liked mince pies.

Daddy helped him make the snowflakes today, but he talked about Mommy still; telling Alan stories and singing her favourite song in his silly voice.

Scotty told him that he'll help him make his peg reindeer on Friday, and that he still has some of Mommy's blue glitter for Alan to use for Rudolph's nose instead of the red felt balls. Scotty didn't laugh at him for giving Rudolph a blue nose, because he knows that Alan doesn't like red anymore. Scotty was there. He understands.

Johnny lifted him up to put the star on the tree when they'd finished. It's not like it was with Mommy, and Johnny couldn't hold him up for long because he was tired and Alan is heavy, but he promised to do the same tomorrow when they make their snowman with Daddy. It's their thing to do now, because they both look so much like Mommy. It makes it special again.

Alan might not like winter anymore, but he still loves Christmas, because Christmas means family, and family and remembering Mommy is the most important part of Christmas. Even though he can't see Mommy, he knows that she'll still be there this year.

She'll always be there for him. Especially when it's cold.

 


	6. Jeff

_**Dusk** _

Some might see it as the ceasing of the day; the fine line that separates twilight from the night, something that is just another moment.

Others could view it as the beginning of something exciting, new, bright; a period of relaxation and a time to reflect upon what has happened in the hours gone by.

He sits on the front porch as his sons play in the yard; Scott and John again roped into playing the trussed-up Indians despite being eighteen and fifteen respectively, and often complaining that they 'don't have time for these games'. But being home for the last two weeks before they start their first year of college, they don't want to miss any more time with their younger brothers than they have to. Virgil sits in the top of the tree the two eldest are tied to, hidden in the foliage by the waning light as the evening draws to a close. He claims that he is being sentry for the younger boys, but Jeff knows that in truth, his middle son just doesn't want to get muddy.

To Jeff, dusk represents something far more intrinsic and less complex, though he does see many valuable similarities in those other views.

To him, it's a little bit of both ideas. To Jeff, dusk is the link between two different halves of time; the before and after. The end of an era, but then the beginning of a time of adaption before the new one can begin.

The daylight was with Lucy; cool autumn, wild summer, sweet dawn and lazy spring. Loving her was cinnamon and cocoa and popcorn, and sitting up until midnight as their sons slept.

It was before the time of darkness, where the black threatened to swallow not only him, but their boys as well.

The dark hours were the time before the sunshine, when all the stars vanished, but for that north-east light he was shown; with the four imagined points and the pulsing centre.

It is a guiding star. He knows what it represents. The path it shone across led from the moment of last-light, until the very second before dawn.

It helped him realise that through that time, even before the sun had set on that part of their lives, he would have something to anchor him until he and his sons were on the cusp of a new day.

The sun is almost gone; the minutes have ticked by without Jeff realising. He is beneath the light on the veranda, but the yard is in darkness now but for the circle of lanterns Scott and Gordon have set up on the lawn beneath the sycamore. He watches as John pours hot chocolate from the thermos they'd taken out with them earlier, even as Alan comes pelting across the yard towards him, Virgil in hot pursuit as he yells something along the lines of 'give back the marshmallows'.

Jeff knows that dusk isn't the end of it. Even though the skies might grow dark, the time will always come when the shadows will turn to grey, and the world will be lit by the sun once more.


End file.
